


don't remind me [on hiatus]

by DiamondWolf_YT



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Mesa Sweet Voice, Drowning, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, and benry, and they are my comfort characters, gordon has adhd, i project onto both bcos i have adhd, its in there i promise, not too slow though im impatient, post game pre bank robbery basically, so does benrey, the bubby/coomer is just a given theyre husbands, these tags are making it sound worse than it is but i promise its ok it gets better, this fic is a bit shit but im doing this for ME, this has a lot of me prjecting onto gordon, tommy has autism but because i dont have it ill try my best to write it well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondWolf_YT/pseuds/DiamondWolf_YT
Summary: When Gordon gets home, he expects to chill the fuck out, take a shower, and go to sleep for, like, a month. Maybe try to get therapy in the future with the hush money he had been promised. Not to have a nightmare. Not for a certain bastard to return. But of course, when does the world ever work out for him?
Relationships: Benrey & Gordon Freeman, Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Tommy Coolatta & Gordon Freeman
Comments: 35
Kudos: 251





	1. Dark brown to light umber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning! theres a nightmare sequence here. it has drowning and mild panic attacks. skip from "so of course it was no surprise..." to "only to shoot up in bed" to skip the nightmare entirely. end notes have a summery

The trip home was much more peaceful than he expected. He didn’t know what to expect anymore, but apparently his time at Black Mesa hadn’t done any good for his expectations now. The night sky was pleasant, the sun just barely peeking out over the horizon. He was on his road, now, near his apartment. He’s silently thankful no one was out to see him, because then they’d probably flip the fuck out seeing a bloodied man in a weird looking set of what could possibly be classified as armor.

Honestly, his legs hurt like a bitch. No amount of pretty scenery could change that. His entire body ached, and despite how he had his hand back, that.. didn’t really change much. Right around where it had been cut - where a scar now rested, ragged around his wrist - that hurt the most. Sometimes it’d flare up if he moved his hand in a certain way, making it feel like it was being sliced again. It’d force a bit of anxiety up his throat, a clawing feeling that tore at the corners of his mind in a panic, even though he knew it wouldn’t happen again - he’d never have to feel that pain again. But he couldn’t stop it. He’d just have to live with it, he supposed.

Drumming his fingers against the thigh of the HEV suit, Gordon slowed to a stop outside the front of a tall apartment building. Looking up, trying to spot his own window, he realized with annoyance he had left his keys back in his locker, which most likely doesn’t even exist anymore. Oh boy. Fun. Hopefully he had a spare somewhere.

Dragging his feet as he entered the building, going up the stairs with heavy, tired steps, he used most of his weight to lean against the railing. Elevator would probably be easiest, but _people_ take elevators, and he wasn’t in the mood to be seen just yet, if ever for the next week. God, he felt like shit.

Pushing his glasses back to rub at his eyes, he made his way through his hall, all the way down to his door. He had a mat out near the front, like a few others did - oh god hopefully he had stuffed a spare key under it. Crouching to pull up corner after corner, he eventually just picked up the mat, seeing nothing on the ground. At first, he huffed, thinking wow, great, now he’d have to ask the person who usually sits near the front desk when they get back for a new one. He flipped the thing over just in case, and there, taped to the bottom, was a key. Thank. Fucking. God.

After peeling it off and standing, getting into the apartment, seeing the shitty couch and probably messy kitchen he’ll have to clean out for an hour, it was probably the best he’s felt that week. It was nice to finally come home. He was tired of the fucking labs and shit.

Leaning against the now closed door, throwing the key to the counter, he let out a breath through his nose. Okay, the next course of action was to get the damn suit off. He didn’t actually know if he could just.. take it off. It needed some machine to be put on, it’d probably have to be torn off. He wasn’t going to need it again, so he could probably break it and not care.

Moving to the bathroom - that’d be the best place for him to rip the damn thing off, he thinks, second best being his bedroom - he took a moment to lean on the sink, staring at the mirror. Holy shit, he looked _terrible._ A bit shit, came to mind as a descriptor. His glasses were cracked to hell and back - how had he not noticed? - and most of his hair had long since come loose from its hold. He looked tired.

Enough staring, he thought, he could do that a lot longer later if he really wanted.

The time it took to get the damn HEV suit off was lost to him - he only really could pay attention to the harsh cracking as a few plating broke in his attempt to get it off - and by the time most of it was off, leaving only a few parts on his leg, it was far past the point of being salvageable in any way. Good, he thought, kicking the pieces to the side after getting the final parts off, planning to either let the thing rot in the corner or toss it out when he got the chance.

A slow blink, and he was leaning against the wall. He’d have to take a shower - fuck, he _needed_ one desperately, god knows what got on him during that whole “adventure” he had. He didn’t feel like doing anything but sleep but hell, he was _not_ going to bed like this. Pulling his hair out of its ponytail, letting it cling together as it fell over his shoulders, he forced a yawn back. He could sleep for a week, at this point.

His exhaustion seemed to almost blur the next few hours - he could only vaguely feel the warm water of a shower, then the cold bite of the air when he was done - but he didn’t mind. Not at first. It was almost pleasant to him for a moment, to be able to just get along with it, to not have so much happening at once. He could just have a short action lead to another before nothing else could follow. 

Slipping on an old shirt and pants after digging around his closet, he took off his glasses - why did he put them back on? He’d have to get new ones, and he wasn’t staying up for much longer - and set them on his nightstand. Another weak rub at his eyes, and he sat down at the edge of his bed, thinking for a moment. About what, he couldn’t tell. As tired as he was, his mind wouldn’t slow down- though that may have actually been why. He couldn’t grasp onto any one thought for longer than a moment before it slipped away again.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, not even bothering to get under the covers first. It would have been the first half decent sleep he’s gotten since the whole incident - for the past week or so he’s just been running on small hour or two long naps, usually only taken during their little rest periods.

Well. Okay. Pay attention to the words “would have been.” Of course he’d be left with some underlying issue, with trauma to top it off - how he expected he’d get a good sleep with no dreams was beyond him. How he expected that, even if he did have dreams, they’d be _pleasant_ was even more so.

So of course it was no surprise when he “woke up” in a dark, damp, and frankly disgusting place he didn’t recognize. It was too dark for his liking. Way too dark - it closed in on him, suffocating, and it felt like he was right back at Black Mesa, being held down in the dark as his skin was being torn from a knife. The darkness of wherever he was - it hated him. It wanted him to hurt.

He felt pressure around his throat, like he was being choked. Clawing uselessly at it, he tried gasping for breath, but the air couldn’t reach his lungs. A silent plea for help rang through his mind, echoing off of nothing.

And then he felt it. Nothing. Like it all stopped suddenly - no pressure on his throat aside from his own hands, no fear of getting hurt again, no dark.. well. Okay. It was still dark as fuck. But now he could see around him a little bit. He could see a dark liquid, resting cold and flat around his legs, only moving when he does. Moving sluggishly, he tested it, taking a step forward. It clung to him, pulling him down like mud. It didn’t look like mud, though. It was almost shiny.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up, trying to see if he could get a grasp at his surroundings. He could barely make out shapes - swirling tower-like spires of shadow somehow darker than the world around him, twisting and churning together, piercing the sky above. He swallowed, trying to force his legs to move faster.

The cold of the liquid - whatever it was - seemed to rise, chilling him to his core. Slowly at first, it reached his knees, then quickening its speed. It was getting harder to move, now, until it was past his waist, and he lost all feeling in his body where it touched.

He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t move. Chewing at this inside of his mouth, he took a glance down, eyeing his reflection, swallowing panic that rose almost as fast as this… _stuff_ did.

And then he heard it.

A hum, soft at first - so quiet he was almost sure he was hearing things. It wouldn’t be a surprise at this point. But it slowly rose up in volume, echoing around him, and try as he might to turn around to see if he could find it’s source, nothing came into view aside from a few sparks of light off in the distance. They grew with the hum, getting either larger or closer.

The hum was familiar. It sent him into a sort of shock. He pressed his lips into a line, again trying to move, only for the hum to suddenly turn ear shattering, like some sort of warning. It jabbed at his head, and it felt like it was going to shatter his skull, or pick it apart piece by piece. It hurt like hell, and he lurched, grabbing at his head, pulling at his hear, letting out silent, unheard pleas for it to stop, to leave him the fuck alone, to let him go back home, to sto _pstopst_ **_opstop-_ **

The bright reflection of lights caught his eye, and through his hazy vision and dizzy haze, he forced himself to look up.

His blood turned to ice as he recognized it. That damn sweet voice. That stupid fucking sweet voice that the bastard he had killed used. He could almost feel the heat radiate off of the small orbs, and he could only watch as they circled him, almost teasingly, just out of smacking distance. 

Some were bright - red to zaffre, for instance. Others were less so - like the darkened brown to light umber.

He couldn’t focus on any more than that - they seemed to swirl, though not in that “cocoon” way that they had to some more… unfortunate souls. That, he was alright with. Literally everything else could fuck off, though.

The weird liquid began again, raising up to his elbows. He felt panic rise once more, clawing at the back of his throat, squeezing at his chest to halt his breathing. He wouldn’t need air in a second anyway, if this continued.

He couldn’t move - god, he couldn’t _move,_ he had to move, maybe he could swim? No- this was too thick for that, he couldn’t even move his legs for fucks sake, what made him think he could move anything else? It had to be worth it to try, though, like hell he was going to die here. Not now. Not after all he had lived through.

He tried to raise his head, but the humming, _god_ the humming, it hadn’t stopped, it made him want to curl up, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to, but he wasn’t even able to move much more, now. Muttering a quick “fuck,” he tried avoiding the liquid as much as he could, thrashing- well, okay, it couldn’t be called thrashing, more like the vague feeling of moving when it wasn’t happening. But he tried! He really did.

But of course, he couldn’t get out of it that easily, now could he?

The liquid seeped into his nose, and fuck, he forgot to take a breath hadn’t he? He shut his eyes tight, cursing himself for being stupid. He could feel his lungs burning already, screaming at him for air, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t breathe in, that’d make it worse, he knew it would-

That knowledge didn’t stop him from gasping, however, sucking in the - frankly disgusting tasting, what was this? - liquid. He could feel it burn much more than the lack of air, and if he could he’d be coughing a lung right now.

He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t breathe, everything _hurt, god, what the fuck, get him out of here, it hurts so fucking much._

He could swear, if only for a moment, he could hear a voice, distorted and monotone, yet so familiar, call out from above the cold prison of his. He couldn’t make much out of it. All he could hear were a few words.

“ **_what...get….leave...idiot”_ **

And he gave up the fight, too weak to continue..

..only to shoot up in bed, grasping at his throat, gasping and coughing out nothing. His eyes stung, though he didn’t feel like trying to reprimand himself for crying. Because that was a fucked up dream, and he was still reeling from it, moving to pull his legs up to his chest.

Okay, he thought, trying to steady his breathing. Okay. He was okay.

He fumbled with the string of his bedside lamp, weakening trying to tug it for some light to shine. What time was it?

He was okay. The small lamp showed he was okay. He was home. He was safe - he wasn’t going to drown or get choked or stabbed or whatever the fuck his mind decided to make him believe. He was fine. He..

He choked out a sob that he halfheartedly tried shoving down.

He was not fine. But he wouldn’t admit it out loud - he didn’t want to bother anyone, especially not the science team and _especially_ not so soon after all this shit happened to them all.

He did, however, reach for his phone - thank fuck he had left it in his kitchen on accident on the day of the incident - and pressed the home button, swiping with shaking fingers past the login screen.

He had managed to swipe the numbers of Dr. Coomer and Tommy, right after the party. He couldn’t remember when he put them in his phone.

Tapping on Tommy’s contact, only sparing a glance at the time - 6:07 am - he took a breath, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand, and writing a hastily typed message. He’d probably get a reply tomorrow, but that was fine.

_“hey, Tommy, dude, what does brown to like. umber i think? yeah what does that mean”_

_“for sweet voice i mean”_

He’d just have to explain later. He didn’t want to explain most of the dream, no, as much as venting seemed nice right now. He clicked his phone off, tossing it onto his bed. No, he’d just lie and say he had just been interested because he saw it used on someone. Someone who wasn’t him.

God, he felt like shit. More so than when he had gone to bed. Well.. He leaned back against the headboard, eyes shut tighter than he’d ever had them before. His shittyness and exhaustion will just be future Gordon’s fault, then. And whether or not he intended to reply to Tommy’s response was also up in the air for then.

Whatever. He just focused on _not_ crying his eyes out. He focused less on the terrible feeling that the weird as fuck nightmare had given him. Maybe he’d call his ex to see if he could say hi to Joshua. He’d need to apologize for being gone for so long with no warning.. Okay. Yeah. He could do this.

He’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so basically gordon has a nightmare about being in a dark place, it reminds him of his hand getting cut, and then he ends up in another place where he finds sweet voice [darkened brown to light umber and red to zaffre] before a weird liquid rises and drowns him. he hears a voice thats weird sounding that tells him "what" "get" "leave" and "idiot" because he cant hear it well.
> 
> -
> 
> eyyy thanks for reading !!
> 
> anyone who could guess what my sweet voice colors mean gets a cookie
> 
> this is my first hlvrai fic so sorry if its cringe :v: im open to criticism as long as ur nice about it bcos if ur mean i Will Cry and that is a threat /j
> 
> my tumblr is knight---cookie so feel free to say hi or talk to me abt hlvrai!! i am Hyperfixating
> 
> please leave comments!! ur not obligated to i just like reading them a lot


	2. talks are nice without breezes cold as ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon talks with Tommy for a bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> id be lying if i said most of this chapter /wasnt/ written to try to get a feel on how i would write these characters, though especially tommy because i love him  
> hope u enjoy!!!

Gordon didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep.

He woke up to a sore neck and tired eyes. He hadn’t even moved out of his sitting position. Raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck, he moved to stretch his legs across the span of his bed. Okay. Yeah. He felt better now. He didn’t have another dream that night, which was.. good. Yeah. He didn’t want to dream right now. He’d rather that start back up _after_ he’s gotten years of therapy. He could do without it for a bit.

Leaning his head against the headboard, he chewed at his lip for a moment as he stared at the ceiling. He felt like he was forgetting something. What happened last night? Fuck if he knew, all he could remember was some fucked up dream and then a mild breakdown. You know, the usual.

Must not have been important then.

Letting his hand fall to his side, he reached for his cracked glasses, weakly placing them where they belong. Blinking several times, he briefly wondered if it would just be better for him to strain his eyes, because god knows those cracks weren’t doing him any good anyway.

Moving to sit at the edge of the bed, letting his legs dangle off, he took a look out the window. Okay, so the sun was… decently high up. Must be around noon then. At least he got _some_ rest.

Grabbing his phone from off his bed - when had he put that there? - he stood, stretched, and made his way to the kitchen. Okay, now that he was rested, he could figure out… whatever mess will be in there to greet him. He wasn’t excited for this, but it had to be done.

Standing in the little entrance to the kitchen, he leaned against the counter, trying to turn on his phone. Nope. Black screen. Muttering a curse, he realized it must’ve died sometime during his sleep. Okay. Wonderful.

Setting it on the charger as he passed it, he pulled out the trash can from under the sink. Hey, he had nowhere else to put it. This _worked._

The next, what, thirty or so minutes were spent cleaning out his fridge - gross - and a few cabinets. He didn’t bother cleaning any tupperware - he could just buy more next time he goes out.

Almost wincing, he shoved the lid to the trash back on, condemning it to life under the sink until the next garbage day for his complex.

“Okay,” he spoke aloud to himself. His own voice felt near grating on his ears, and his throat ached when he spoke. He.. really should try to not be so loud. That _cannot_ be good for his throat. “Okay. So..” He licked his lips almost awkwardly - hah, he was so fucked that even talking to himself made him anxious - and leaned against the counter, propped up by his elbows.

He made a grab for his phone, holding down the on button until the screen flashed. Alright, great, it wasn’t dead and was actually charging rather fast. He’d just call his ex, maybe see if he had missed anything important, and then…

Then what? Would he just sit here in his apartment? He didn’t have his wallet - that, too, was left in the locker at Black mesa - and he didn’t think he had any spare money lying around, so he couldn't go get groceries. He doesn’t have anything for his TV that could entertain him - no video games aside from _maybe_ an old playstation he wasn’t even sure worked, and because of you-know-who, he wasn’t too keen on using it anyway.

Swiping past the login screen on his phone, he blinked, staring at the notification of a few missed messages. Huh. Did someone need help, or something?

No, he soon realized. No, it was just Tommy. A smile came to his face, for a moment. Tommy was a good friend.

Flicking the notification to open the messages, he quickly scrolled to the top - yep, he did send something, that must’ve been what he forgot - and reread his own texts. Okay. So he _did_ ask about the sweet voice. Alright. Now for Tommy..

**“** **_oh!!”_ ** **_  
_** **_“um!”  
_** ** _“mr freeman is everything okay?”  
_** ** _“brown to umber is um”  
_** ** _“not very good”  
_** ** _“it doenst have an exact translation because the dark colors usually are vague but! it basically uh”  
_** ** _“it basically means “your own guilt will pull you under” i think? something like that!! but”  
_** ** _“but depending on like”  
_** ** _“if its light or dark or stuff it could also mean other things!! something about sleep i think! maybe “have a good slumber” if its light to light and if its light to dark then itd be the opposite!!”  
_** ** _“why do you ask :o is everything alright?”_**

There were a few more texts, though they were usually something similar to the “are you ok” ones. There were a few off topic messages - a picture of Sunkist laying on a couch was one of them. He thought it was cute - but for the most part the messages had been sent every hour or so, maybe a bit more.

Deciding not to leave the guy in the dark, he typed out a quick response.

_“Yeah I’m good, sorry, had a weird dream. Probably saw it somewhere.”_

_“You were the first person I thought to tell though”_

_“Thanks btw”_

Okay. So… that translation… was not very promising, he had to admit. Whatever the hell his brain was trying to tell him he was not having any of it. Fuck that. Guilt? What fucking guilt? He was in the right for most of what he had done. Most of it. Okay maybe letting the science team kill innocents - not including the clones, for the most part - wasn’t the smartest on his end, but that’s fine!

Tommy’s reply was quick and brought him back for a bit.

“ **_oh :(( hope youre feeling ok!!”_ **

**_“if you wanna talk to someone ill be here! and the rest of us too!! youre our friend!”_ **

**_“:)”_ **

_“Thank you Tommy.”_

_“Can I give you a call?”_

It was a spontaneous decision. Kind of stupid. Okay maybe a lot stupid, but to be honest the quiet of his apartment was.. weird to him. He thought it’d be nice - after all, every noise in Black Mesa usually meant he had to be on edge - but instead it made him anxious. He didn’t know why and it bothered him. He didn’t _like_ not knowing why. He wasn’t _meant_ to not know why.

Tapping his fingers rhythmically on the counter, he stared at the screen of his phone, waiting.

**_“yeah of course!!! :o”_ **

Okay, that was all he needed. He just had to hear a voice other than his own. Plus, Tommy was a good dude. He felt like he could talk to him.

Tapping the call button, his phone rang only a few times when he put it on speaker, when Tommy’s cheery voice came through the speaker.

“Hel- hello Mr Freeman! Is everything-” an _oomf_ is heard on his end, along with the bark of a dog, with Tommy’s laughter following too. “Sunkist- down- I’m trying to- trying to talk with Mr Freeman- I’m- I’m sorry, Sunkist is just really excited right now.”

He could practically hear the smile Tommy has, and Gordon sighs, letting out a small laugh.

“It’s fine, man, don’t worry about it,” he assured, moving to dig through the pantry. Did he have any chips that _weren’t_ stale? He hoped so.

“So- so, um, what did- uh.. Did you- did you want to talk about anything?” He could hear a bit of fabric rubbing together, probably from being adjusted, and he could faintly hear an echo of a rubber ball on wood, along with Sunkist’s nails tapping. He’d have to ask if he could hang out, sometime later. Sunkist was a good dog, and Tommy was a good friend. Perfect!

“I uh. Kinda wanted to.. nothing- it’s fine, I just wanted to hear you. Kinda lonely here and that dream didn’t help, you know?”

“Oh yeah that- that makes sense! If you don’t mind me- if you don’t mind me asking, what was your.. dream? You asked- uh- about the… sweet voice.”

He paused, taking in a breath. Should he explain? Tommy was probably the only one who’d even mildly understand what was going on, so it’d be smartest to tell him, but so soon? He had a small predicament, but instead of thinking it through any longer, he couldn’t stop himself from giving at least a little away.

“Yeah- yeah, it was.. weird. Kinda messy. Reminded me of some.. stuff. That happened.” He made a ‘you know’ motion with his hand, as if Tommy would be able to see it. “Near the end I was stuck in this, like, water, I guess? I don’t know what it was but it rose really fast, and then there was just… sweet voice. Not just what I told you, there was a shit ton that I can't even remember, but.. it was weird. So I asked you because I was curious.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Well, as much silence as you can get when Tommy is trying to multitask between talking with Gordon and playing with Sunkist.

He hears a small intake of breath on Tommy’s end, and he rose an eyebrow at nothing, closing the door to the pantry he still has had yet to move from. From what he could hear, of a sliding door and the quick steps of Sunkist, he assumed Tommy was going inside. After a bit more silence and the closing of a door, Tommy again speaks.

“Do- do you- uh.. do you remember any other colors?” His voice is soft, like he’s trying to talk and think at the same time, letting himself get distracted. He probably was.

“...kinda? Red to-.. uh. I don't know the name but it’s the kind of dark blue you'd see cars having. That’s the only other one I remember.” He picks at the hem of his shirt, moving to hold his phone and lean against the counter.

“Ah…” He hears a hum, and a bit of muttering. “Maybe navy… or zaffre? Or...” He trails off, for a moment, before muttering several colors under his breath, seemingly trying to correlate ones to the red. Gordon has to wonder briefly how this man has so much knowledge on colors.

Then, he speaks up again.

“It- it must’ve been zaffre, Mr Freeman. Nothing else makes- nothing would make sense aside from that one. It- it doesn’t rhyme _exactly_ but- it- it just means that you shouldn't have been there. Like- like- uh- red to zaffre means “you can't be here.””

Well, he would rather have not been there, so that one he could agree on, as much as he would hate to ever admit to anyone, much less himself. God, what kind of fucked up dreams did his mind supply him with? To the point it used colors to something he didn’t know, yet somehow making perfect sense all at the same time when translated? Maybe he had spent too much time around the bastard who shall not be mentioned.

“..okay. Well- thank you. For telling me that.”

“Yeah yeah of course! Are you- do you think you’re going to be alright? For now? I mean- I mean uh, nightmares are like, to be expected, you know? So- so if you think you ever might need to, like, uh, talk to someone about them, then I’ll be here for you!”

Right. Right, he would know just as well how much the whole incident would fuck someone up. He knew that nightmares are probably a given.

Gordon lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Maybe that’s why he felt so dizzy. He nods, forgetting for a moment he’s just talking through the phone, and lets out a quiet “yeah” under his breath.

“Yeah,” he repeats after a moment, much louder now, running a hand through his hair, “yeah. I’ll be fine. Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” The corners of his lips tug up into a small smile as he spoke. He tugged at a strand of his hair absentmindedly, picking up his phone with his free hand. “I- I might go now. I gotta figure out how to buy some shit.”

“Wait! Right!” Tommy calls, and he could hear some sort of shuffling on the other end, “uh- we’re supposed to be getting a, um, a check for all of-” he could practically see Tommy wave his hand in a circular motion “-all of this stuff, you know? Uh- maybe- maybe check your mailbox when you get the chance! I’m about to- about to go for a walk with Sunkist so I’ll check mine.”

“Oh. Alright, great, I’ll check it out later.” He hovers his thumb over the end call button. “See you soon, man. Stay safe.”

“You- you too Mr Freeman! Have a good day!”

A short, quiet beep came from his phone as he ended the call. Okay, so he would be getting some hush money. Got it. That’d be extra useful for today, and to pay off some bills.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he put some shoes on and headed out of his apartment, locking the door behind him, though not before double checking he had his key. He would go get the money, if it was there, come right back up, and start a list for stuff he needed. And he would _not_ buy pointless things. Nope. He will follow his list to a T.

...okay maybe _one_ thing, for all the troubles he had gone through last week.

He took the elevator this time, not feeling like mildly torturing himself with the stairs. Besides, he was at least _mildly_ decent looking now; not bloodied and dirty. He was just the tired kind of not presentable. He could deal with that.

He had to ask the clerk at the front desk for a spare key to his mailbox - god knows where the hell _that_ key ended up - and gave an awkward explanation on simply losing it while on a walk. After getting an awkward stare of what could only be described as mild confusion, the lady dug through a drawer, asked for a few details - standard stuff. She eventually seemed to find what she was looking for, pulling out a small key and handing it to him, saying he could pay for it later. Wow. Okay.

The mailbox setup for his complex was just outside the door to the entrance, and holy _shit_ was his particular box full. He could barely hold it all, jesus what the _fuck_? It was probably 90% ads and shit but still.

Had he been gone _that_ long?

He had struggled when trying to open his door, having to try and tuck the mail under an arm as he fumbled with the key. The minute he was inside, he slammed his door shut and dumped the pile of mail onto the counter.

He can sort through it later, what he was looking for was important stuff.

Haphazardly throwing some envelopes to the side, he plucked out only three at the end of it; one thick, heavy envelope, and two thinner ones that were very obviously from the landlord.

This would be quick to deal with - the thick envelope held a few.. well, many checks he could probably cash in, along with a bit of actual physical money. All around it was.. a lot. A very good amount for the sort of “shut the fuck up about what happened or we will kill you” message it sent across. And boy he got the message loud and clear.

The next few hours were spent with only a mild amount of panic over the due bills, only a small amount. He checked the day using his phone - it was almost an entire week since the Resonance Cascade. How in the fuck had they piled up? Why in the fuck were they due _now_ and now literally _any other week?_ The universe hates Gordon Freeman, apparently. LOves to make him suffer in mildly inconvenient ways.

He had moved, now, from standing uncomfortably at the counters to sitting on the only slightly less uncomfortable floor, doing some tax and bill related work on the coffee table in front of his couch, back to the TV. He chewed at the eraser of his pencil, accidentally chipping away at a ledge, getting an eraser shaving stuck in his mouth. He made a face at that; he really needs to stop that. Moving to tap his pencil against his face in a small pattern, staring down at the papers, he let out a huff, squinting. He had taken off his glasses - he doesn’t have a spare pair, and at this point they probably were starting to hurt his vision _more_ \- so now he sat, glasses behind a bottle of water, with his head propped up by his hand.

The tapping of his pencil was the only thing his mind could really zero in on, right now, try as he might to just get this done and over with. He was about to sigh, to give up and move to the couch to watch TV, when he felt something cold brush against his neck. Sort of like breath.

He tensed, stopping his tapping, feeling goosebumps rise on his arms. When another cold, almost breeze-like feeling swept across the back of his neck, he tightened his grip around his pencil, almost snapping it in half at this point. Taking in a breath, he decided to do something stupid, depending on what was going on right now. He moved to sit in a better position, and swiftly turned around-

..but nothing was there.

He let out the breath he held, letting it flow past his lips as he leaned back, placing a hand on his chest as if to calm his racing heart. Fuck.

What the hell was that? Did he have fucking _ghosts_ in his house now? It wouldn’t be too far fetched at this point, in all honesty. That or he was finally losing whatever shred of sanity he had left.

He sort of slid down, the corner of the coffee table digging into his neck as he rested his head on its surface. He had since dropped his pencil, instead using his hand to trail down his arm until it reached his wrist - his unscarred one, his less dominant hand - where he held on tightly. 

He was hopefully just imagining it. He was hopefully just imagining how his hair stood on end, how his body felt chilled like ice.

Yeah. He was just stressed or something. Nothing weird or freaky was going on.

It was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is a bit rushed! i dont usually reread my work too much [though im ever thankful for my friend who points out errors she notices, ily abbie <3] and i struggle with pacing often, but thats okay!!
> 
> AAAAAAA THANK YOU ALL FOR SUCH KIND WORDS LAST CHAPTER!!!! i was so happy to see ppl enjoying this that i actually started writing this chapter much earlier than initially intended!!!! godddd i love you all so muchhhhh ;0; [and thank you to the lovely anon who came to my inbox on tumblr, too! i love all of yall]
> 
> im very happy i decided to actually post some of my writing!! this fandom is so much nicer than my past ones and god i love you all for that


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benry doesn't like change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS BEEN A WEEK IM SO SORRY THIS CHAPTER WAS GIVING ME SO MUCH TROUBLE I REWROTE IT LIKE 3 TIMES--

Benry could only stare blankly forward.

Where the fuck was he? He didn’t recognize this place. Didn’t matter, though. He’s kinda dead right now, so nothing really matters anymore, not to him at least. Did anything really matter to him in the first place?

Gordon kind of did, he supposed. Gordon  _ fucking  _ Freeman. (Or, Feetman, as he had so quickly given him as a horrible nickname. He enjoyed seeing how riled up Gordon got when he used it. It was amusing to him.)

Why he decided to take a liking to that guy was a damn mystery to him. He just took one look at the guy and latched on. He wasn’t good with words, so yeah, he fucked up a bunch of times, but he was  _ trying  _ god damn it. That was more than fucking  _ Feetman  _ could say. He hadn’t even  _ tried  _ being nice!

And now here he was. In some weird fucking void. Dead. All because of some dude who didn’t have his passport.

If he could speak he’d call his entire situation an epic fail moment, probably. But he couldn’t really move. His body felt numb, for the most part. He could twist around, maybe move a hand, but he couldn’t open his mouth for a long time. Felt like it was glued shut, almost. Annoying.

For a while that’s just how it’d go. He’d open his eyes, maybe try to talk, move, whatever. Stare at the void for a bit. Try again with the whole moving plan. Give up in mild frustration. Close eyes, do whatever the fuck his equivalent of sleep was. Repeat. Over, and over, and over, for what could possibly count as a day after day feeling. He knew it couldn’t possibly have been too long, maybe a few days at most. Time works weird in this void, he could tell.

Of course, when the time came where he could actually open his mouth when he tried, letting out an almost pitiful noise (cringe), he realized something must have changed. That  _ something  _ became rather obvious when he suddenly fell from… wherever the fuck he had been previously. He didn’t fall onto any hard ground, no, more like some sort of liquid that kind of reminded him of the stuff at Xen. His landing caused a small wave to surface, rippling away gently. He tried - just for a moment, just to test - to see if he could still do the sweet voice. A forced hum, with a horrible sound crack in it, came from his mouth. After a moment, there they were, the small orbs he’s come to grow used to and fond of. Okay, well, that’s kind of good. He can still do that.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, noting how he was still at his impossibly large size, he crossed his legs, letting a hand sit in the liquid to prop him up as he leaned back. He busied himself with testing out what else he could finally do now. Speak, check. Actually move everything, check. Use the sweet voice like before, check. Okay, everything seemed to be fine.

Stretching an arm out in front of himself, making a semi-satisfied hum at a near startling crack of his elbow, he began to almost… test his limits, so to speak. Seeing how loud he could get without breaking his voice. He could get loud before, near ear shattering so, if he hadn’t been accustomed to it. And boy, he got  _ loud  _ now. His size seemed to amplify it, picking up the pitch an octave or so more than normal. A smirk planted itself firmly on his face. Well that was something. 

His gaze flickered to where several strings of sweet voice orbs had gathered around him. Different chains of colors, strung together in a colorful show of how he felt, a few calming ones thrown in near haphazardly without being noticed.

But he couldn’t stop. He had spotted something - no, some _ one  _ \- down in the liquid, painfully small compared to him. A bit of squinting and leaning close - which could not have been good for this small dude’s hearing, yuck - made it click to him why this man was so familiar.

It was Gordon.

He was hunched over, hands clasped over his ears, shoulders trembling. Benry could only really raise an eyebrow at the notice of him. Deciding to… take pity on the man, he went to close his mouth, shut himself up, or at the very least quiet down his humming.

It uh. Didn’t work. At all, actually.

Somehow he couldn't stop the hums from escaping his throat, sweet voice leaking through his tightly shut teeth and slipping past his lips. He was losing control of it,  _ somehow,  _ and it was… okay it was a little weird and unnerving, if he was honest to himself. He tried at the very least to make it  _ comforting  _ to Gordon; some of those calming blues he had used before, but even those seemed to be out of his abilities right now. He could only manage a  _ warning,  _ red to zaffre, an urge for Gordon to  _ leave,  _ to wake up, because fuck, the only way he could be here was if he was  _ dreaming,  _ or something equally… cringe? Yeah. He’s gonna call it cringe until he can figure out what the fuck is wrong with himself.

Now, either Gordon was sinking, or this liquid was rising. Benry couldn’t tell which, even as Gordon moved to try to keep his head above it, abandoning his hold on his ears, even has he tried dipping his hand in again to test it - but fuck, that made it rise (it was rising, he decided) faster. He could feel something rise up his throat, choking him - what the fuck is that emotion - and he struggled to get out something  _ positive  _ with the sweet voice - whatever was happening right now, however, whatever was  _ changing  _ it,  _ doing  _ this, twisted his message into something that could choke.  _ Guilt,  _ it mentioned. He hadn’t meant to say that.

So he tried again, to communicate, but with words that were muffled and high pitched and frankly not  _ him  _ sounding. He kept cutting himself off with his own voice, his own song, but he couldn’t stop. He managed to force out something small, something simple enough.

**_“what the hell, dude, get out, you gotta leave, you’re not supposed to be here you idiot-”_ **

He tried to speak more, but Gordon was being swept under. His eyes widened a fraction, and he tried reaching out, tried swiping at Gordon, tried grabbing him and holding him in place, because he was  _ human _ and dream or not this couldn’t feel nice at all. His hand only skidded the liquids surface, Gordon already long gone. The minute it happened, he fell silent, mouth hanging open just a little. The corners of his lips twitched downwards a bit, a motion so small that he hadn’t even felt it, before he firmly shut his mouth, staring silently at the space where Gordon had been.

He could feel his hands twist into fists, and he took a breath into his nose. What the fuck. What the entire full fuck just happened. First he was alone, he couldn’t move, and then he could. First he was alone and then he wasn’t. Gordon was here and then he was  _ gone _ , just like that, as quick as he came.

He sat silently for a second, closing his eyes. Why was he worked up about this? That wasn’t like him at all. He shouldn’t care about…  _ this.  _

But for some reason he  _ did. _

For a while he tried his best to remain silent. He was fidgety and uncomfortable, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually do something.

After a moment, the liquid he sat in seemed to vanish beneath him. He felt weightless, if only for a second, until his legs were right back under him and something solid was beneath his feet. Blinking his eyes open, he furrowed his brows together, looking around. This.. wasn’t  _ that  _ area. This was a house. Small and cozy looking, with a dog bowl near the kitchen counters, and a few potted plants. Must be Tommy’s house if the bowl was anything to go by. Unless he somehow ended up in some random person's house. That’d be pretty cringe.

A sliding door opened to his right, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets as he glanced over to it.

Okay, he was correct, this  _ was  _ Tommy’s house, because there he was, phone up to his ear, in a yellow and pink button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sunkist follows him in, close at his heels, and spares a glance in Benry’s direction. Tommy doesn’t seem to notice him.

It takes a moment for his voice to register in Benry’s mind, and he catches the end half of a sentence, spoken as Tommy moves to sit on top of the counter, with Sunkist lying beneath him, staring at Benry.

“-shouldn’t have been there. Like- like- uh- red to zaffre means “you can’t be here.””

He raises an eyebrow, squinting. Huh. How would- okay, coincidence. A weird coincidence. Moving to stand in front of Tommy, his shoes not making a sound, he waves a hand in front of his face. Tommy’s eyes seemed to almost gloss over for a moment, but he earns no other reaction aside from that.

“yo, tommy, bro.” he speaks, trying again to gain his attention, for some sort of reaction.

He gets none. Not even a nod or a smile. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he spoke, now. He couldn’t hear his own voice. He knew he was  _ trying  _ to speak, at the least; he could feel it if he focused hard enough. But he couldn’t  _ hear  _ it. Couldn’t hear himself. But, he must’ve made a sound, any sound.

Sunkist lifts her head, at his voice, and stares intently at him for a moment. She puts her head down, and now she, too, begins to give no reaction. She’s probably just choosing to ignore him, though. Tommy might genuinely be unable to see him.

Tommy swings his legs a bit, earning quiet thumps from when his heels hit the cabinets. Benry can't seem to zero in on a single sound; the thumps, Tommy’s voice, the occasional huff or ‘boof’ from Sunkist, the quiet voice he could barely make out coming from the other end of the call- his mind couldn’t focus on a single sound only. He could hear parts of what Tommy’s saying - something about nightmares? That fucking sucks - and maybe a word or two from the other person.

He opens his mouth, to try again - can't hurt to, right? - but when he blinks, he’s gone, the house seemingly fizzling away around him like smoke. He tries grabbing at it, trying to wrap his hands around anything that had been near - the counters, the walls,  _ Tommy - _ but it slips between his fingers, and he’s left in a dark, void-like emptiness. He’s left standing, alone again, in an empty plane of almost deafening silence. Okay, this is getting frustrating. Really fucking frustrating. That was twice now - twice! - where he had just seen someone- just-  _ disappear  _ right in front of him! And both times he  _ probably  _ could have done something about it. Why would he, though?

...well okay, Tommy was his friend. He’d admit that. He’d try to do something about it when it came to that. 

The void was stuffy, this time. Humid. It felt tight around his chest, pressing into him, making every breath a chore. Did he even need to breathe, or was it just habit by now? He didn’t know.

The only thing left for him to do was wait. See, one of two things could happen now, of that he was certain; one, he would blink and end up somewhere else, either permanently or temporarily; or two, nothing will happen. He’ll just stand there for god knows how long until something eventful happens, be it the first option, or “Gordon drowns part two, electric boogaloo edition.” Either was possible at this point.   
  


Staring off into the darkness, eyes glossy, he spat out a bit of sweet voice, mostly just to chew at it. He let his eyes fall shut, distracting himself with the gummy-like texture of the sweet voice. Okay, now to just wait a moment. Wait until he felt the ground under his feet, the air clear up, the lights of wherever he ends up burning into his eyes.

And of course when it happened, after a few minutes, he was only a little surprised. Swallowing down the sweet voice still resting in his mouth, he pried an eye open to take a look around. He was in a kitchen again - god, was this going to be a  _ theme?  _ \- but in a more cramped area. He guessed it was an apartment - the windows showing how high up, exactly, he was being more than just a hint in the matter. 

He caught a glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, a familiar ponytail. A closer look before the door closed - he could just barely see the sides of glasses. Okay, so, that probably meant this was Gordon's house. Apartment. Whatever, same thing. Benry didn’t know how to feel about where he ended up, though he supposed it was better than staying in the void.

He leant against the counter, fingers dancing across it. There was absolutely nothing to do here - Gordon wasn’t here, and there was no telling if he could see him or not, so bothering him was out of the question right now - and there wasn’t even a game console under the TV! Who- come on, he said he wanted to be a streamer but he doesn’t even have a game console.

Letting out a huff of breath, he swiped his hand boredly across the counter, only to jump as it collided with what he could only assume had been a glass cup, which was now shattered on the ground beside him. He stared at it awkwardly, before kicking the pieces under the drawers. Not his problem. Out of sight out of mind.

He waited a bit, eventually losing focus on his surroundings, everything becoming just a visual background noise, even when the door opened and shut with Gordon’s return, even when envelopes were tossed against his arms, and even when the TV had been flicked on as Gordon moved to sit down in front of the coffee table. 

Hell, it took the scratching of a pen on paper to bring him out of his haze. He blinked quickly, half expecting to go right back to the void in the process, and took a glance over at Gordon. “Looks a bit shit” would be an understatement. He nearly snorted at that thought, eyeing him as he word on whatever the fuck that was on the table. Lots of bullshit, he’d say.

He hopped over the counter (no use walking around it when jumping was easier,) making his way to Gordon. Benry stopped behind him, crouching to peer over his shoulder, having to grasp at his arm to get a better look at what he was doing. He let out a huff as he read the papers over, skipping paragraphs here and there, just picking out a few sentences to go off of. He expected boring dumb papers. What he didn’t expect was to feel Gordon tense, stopping in his tapping. He didn’t expect a reaction, the sharp intake of breath, the small signs of him holding it - whether he’s doing it on purpose or not.

He blinks, raising an eyebrow. That was new. He tries again, blowing this time against the back of Gordon’s neck instead of just huffing. Honestly, getting a reaction during a (probably temporary, let's be honest) time where he can't interact with people is almost exciting. Almost. Benry would say it’s amusing, being sent backwards in a half crawl motion as Gordon turns quickly. Amusing, watching as Gordon lets out a breath in his own moment of relief. Amusing, seeing the anxiety die in his eyes as he throws his head back against the table.

Benry leans against the TV stand, watching Gordon lie there for a moment. There's a small smirk on his face - he can't be seen, he notes to himself. He could discard the memory of that event from earlier - the drowning and the uncontrolled sweet voice, of course - and he could try to go back to normal, whatever ‘normal’ is at this point. 

Normal to him was talking about video games. Normal to him was  _ playing  _ those video games, preferably on the ps3, and even more preferred to be playing with friends. Normal was bothering Gordon, asking him for  _ passports  _ and calling him  _ Feetman  _ to his face. Normal was..

Normal was what he was used to. And hey, being unseen - now  _ that  _ was good for fucking with Gordon. he could use this to his advantage in his own messed up little attempt at normality and amusement. Because anything other than that wasn’t  _ normal,  _ and he doesn’t- he doesn’t  _ like  _ when things aren’t normal. Because he’s not used to it. Bothering people, playing games- he’s used to that. He can deal with that. Change is weird to him.

It was at that moment, as he moved into a half sitting position, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other stretched out in front of him, that he decided that he could go back to normal. He probably wouldn’t have to deal with weird void shit, and that was fine. Fucking around like some kind of ghost was fine. 

He nudges Gordon’s leg with his foot, a small motion that just so happens to move his legs with enough force to be noticed, and his lips quirk up into a smirk at his jump.

Yeah. He could figure this out. It’d be fun. It’d be something to spend his time with. This would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend pointed out how benry is like a cat in this and yeah im keeping that characterization thats funny HJBHDBJH ily,,
> 
> ALSO THANK YOU ALL FOR THE KIND WORDS AAAAA I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCHHHH IM SO SORRY FOR KEEPING YALL WAITING BUT I WASNT HAPPY WITH MOST OF THIS CHAPTER IM SORRYYY!!! [i might show off some parts of the deleted scenes on my tumblr if asked but for now,,,, u will have to wait for tommy n benry interactions bcos it didnt fit yet DJHBDHJBDHJ]


	4. one week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon decides that this day was, by far, the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *walks in a month late w/ a blue raspberry coolatta* sup bitches long time no see <3
> 
> [WARNING FOR A BRIEF PANIC ATTACK THIS CHAPTER! its only a paragraph or two, but still, be safe! it begins at "he reached up haphazardly..." and ends at "and then there's a hum." ill place a summary at the end notes <33]

One week.

One week since Gordon Freeman came home.

One week of nightmares and the occasional anxiety spike due to the smallest things.

One week since weird shit started happening in his house that he could only equate to some low budget ghost film.

He’d tell himself, ghosts aren’t real, he’s probably just stressed. And that's true! Ghosts are not, in fact, real. And he is, in fact,  _ very fucking stressed.  _ God, he may be 27 but he was sure he’d start to get gray hairs at this point. So much stress piling up could  _ not  _ be good for him, and it showed.

Currently, he was grumbling to himself as he washed his - previously unscarred - hand in the kitchen sink, watching little trails of blood trickle down into the drain. Something, god knows what, had caused him to trip as he entered - his own feet? Was there something on the ground? Who the hell knew! He sure as hell didn’t! - and his hand had slipped under a cabinet, directly into a goddamn  _ pile of shattered glass.  _ Where the hell had  _ that  _ come from? Had he dropped something and just… forgot to clean it up? Why didn’t he notice it before? Hell, he was going to ask his ex if Joshua could visit today, that would have absolutely been a hazard for the kid! Sure, it had since been cleaned up and swept into the trash, but what else was there that he didn’t know of? He supposed Joshua would have to wait a little longer..

He chewed the inside of his cheek - he’d have to look over his apartment after this - and flicked the light above the sink on to see better. He plucked out a few shards, setting them to the side and dunking his hand back under the faucet each time. Christ, that hurt like a bitch. He’d definitely get a few small scars here and there.

And so he stood, waiting until each shard was out - as far as he knew. He didn’t know if there were any small shards he missed, but hey, what’s the worst that could happen - and until the water ran clear. When it did, he let out a small breath, moving to the bathroom to swipe bandaids out from the medicine cabinet. Mirror. It was both.

His hand felt a little numb, and if he straightened his fingers too much, then it’d send a short burning feeling through it. Nothing too bad, moreso annoying than anything. Ok, so that was done with. He let out a breath through his nose, rubbing at his face beneath his glasses - he had found a spare in his desk the other night - and leaning on the sink.

The air in his apartment seemed colder now. Even as he walked around, inspecting every corner, every ledge and table, it loomed over him, chilling him to his core. His AC wasn’t even on.

Deeming his apartment mostly safe - most importantly safe in the living room and Joshua’s room - he moves to the kitchen. It was still early in the day, he was tired, and he hadn’t eaten yet, so this was the perfect time to actually do that.

He decided to make some coffee first, grabbing a mug from the top cabinet. He goes to get the coffee-maker ready, until he’s startled out of his routine by a snort of what he could only call amusement. He jumps, nearly dropping his mug (he only barely manages to snag a finger under the handle to catch it) and turns. For a moment, seeing the figure behind him, he went still, feeling his blood drain from his face, until it clicked in his mind who exactly was standing in his kitchen.

“...Benry?”

The name only gets a raised eyebrow from him, and Gordon has to take a moment to compose himself, letting the initial shock wear off into something more akin to what he usually feels for this bastard. Complete and total anger and frustration.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He sets his mug down, crossing his arms. He’s a lot more calm than he really should be- he should be yelling, getting angry and up close, because for fucks sake, Benry literally just broke into his home and is just  _ standing there,  _ it was a miracle he was so calm. “Actually, no-” he holds a hand up, just to stop whatever nonsense would have been said. “I really don’t wanna know. Just get out.”

Benry snorts, rolling his eyes in what could probably be considered the most emotion he’s shown, shaking his head.

“nah. gotta- gotta follow you, man. gotta make sure you don’t, like… break shit.” He gestures to Gordon’s hand, eyeing the bandaids. “like that- fuckin’.. glass. a little clumsy boy aren’t you? little clumsy bitch boy huh Feetman?”

Gordon scowles, hissing out a “what, are you here to make fun of me?” through grit teeth. He was surprised, with how much he does that, that his teeth were still there. He clenches his jaw often, not even noticing, and the amount of times he's ground his teeth together in anger was a very surprising amount.

Benry opens his mouth to speak, but stops, getting cut off by Gordon. “Listen, man, we’re not in fucking Black Mesa anymore. You-” he gets close, jabbing a finger at Benry’s vest, “are supposed to be dead, you hear me? You’re not- stop smiling, dude, that's weird- you’re not supposed to be here-”

“woahh, is Feetman stealing my lines now?” The lazy smile on his face seemed to quirk up into a half smirk, and Gordon resisted the urge to shove him back. That damned smile, that fucking  _ voice,  _ it grated on his nerves and mocked him at this point. “see, this is- you- this is why i gotta follow you, man, stealing shit. you’re not- you can't do that, man.”

“Benry, listen to me. You- you literally are dead, you can't- wait.” He stops, taking a step back to breathe. It clicked with him, then. “Are you- have you been doing all of this? This weird shit? All week? Did you break my fucking cup? Did you- did you make me trip? Did you fucking do this, Benry?” He holds up his hand, gesturing to the bandaids, then to the trash, which held the glass shards, and then to- to everything. He would’ve done a full 360, arms outstretched, if his kitchen had the room for it.

Benry’s smirk fell, his eyes avoiding Gordons. And that was all he needed, that little movement was all the confirmation necessary. He wasn’t very expressive, but when he was, oh boy was it enough.

Gordon shoved Benry to the side, making his way out of the kitchen. “Leave. Get out of my damn house, go bother someone else. I really don’t want to put up with you today, man.” He elected to instead do some house cleaning, plucking a hoodie from its place on the back of the couch, ignoring Benry and any attempt he would make to get his attention.

What he  _ couldn’t  _ ignore was the fact that he was following him around like a lost puppy. An annoying, rude, and monotone puppy.

Tossing some loose clothes into a basket, making a mental note to take it down to the laundry room later this week, moving some things on shelves, he was losing his patience every second.

Dropping to sit on the couch, sort of slumped, he rested his head in his hands. “Why the hell are you here, Benry?” Maybe, just once, he could get an answer out of the bastard.

“huh?”

Damnit. Nevermind, then. 

Leaning back, he rubs at his eyes. God, he’s tired. It felt like he was getting less and less sleep each day. “Just-” he starts, taking off his glasses and hooking them onto his shirt, “please don’t, like. Break shit, got it? I mean I- you know I have a kid, man, he’s like four, if I didn’t- if you didn’t trip me, I would never have known that was there, and he- man, what if he came over and found that? He’s four, Benry! He could’ve gotten hurt!”

“you have a kid? cringe Feetman has a fail kid?”

Gordon’s a decent guy but he swears he’s about to start throwing shit. “My son? Joshua? You- you  _ saw  _ his photo in my locker at Black Mesa?”

Benry blinks, brows furrowing. “thought you were just making that up, man.”

He gets a small pillow from the couch thrown at his face in response.  _ God,  _ less than two hours of being in the same area and he’s already tired of his shit. New record of putting up with him - it’d usually take less than twenty minutes. 

“...anyway-” he stands, ignoring how Benry followed him - both literally and simply following his movements with his eyes - and made his way to his room, “you- just- don’t break shit, don’t be stupid, and- listen, this is my house, got it?” He throws a glance over his shoulder, barely catching sight of him out of the corner of his eyes. “You gotta listen to me, man. Now be quiet, I gotta make a call.”

He turned back around, missing the poor excuse of a nod - if the head movement could even be considered one - and snatched his phone from off his dresser. Tapping his foot anxiously on the ground, he scrolled through his contacts - god, he forgot he added the science team and not just Tommy - until he found the familiar name of his ex. He glanced up at his bedroom door, making note on how, unfortunately, Benry seemed content on staring at him from there.

Whatever.

He had a call to make.

____________________________

  
  


“Olivia! Olivia, I-”

“Gordon? What the hell, where have you  _ been?  _ It- two weeks, Gordon!”

“I know, I know, I just- let me explain-”

“Why didn’t you-” a sharp inhale, “okay. Okay. I’m- I’m calm. You better explain yourself, Gordon. Joshua was  _ destroyed _ when you wouldn’t pick up your phone.”

A ping of guilt shoots through him, and he bites at his lip. “I- I’m sorry, Olivia, I literally can't- I cant get into, like, specifics, I’m  _ pretty _ sure that’d get me killed. I’m sorry for not calling you sooner, really, I’ve just-... not been dealing with this well.”

“...what happened, Gordie?” Her voice is softer, now, less angry and more concerned. “Tell me in the most simple way you can. No details.”

“Thanks.” He lets out a soft laugh, and glances up, catching Benry’s eyes from the doorway. He quiets immediately, looking away. “There-.. an accident happened at work. Couldn’t get signal, was stuck for about a week in there. Some friends and I managed to get out on our own. I uh… don’t- don’t be surprised if you see some new scars. I just- it fucking  _ sucked,  _ I’m pretty sure I need a therapist now.”

There's a bit of shuffling from the other side, and a soft sort of ‘tch’ noise, though not in any sort of judgement. “...and you call now because?”

“I just.” He stops his pacing - when had he started pacing? - and runs his free hand through his hair. “Felt like you should know. That’s all. I uh- I was… also wondering when Joshua can come over again.” Another glance to Benry. “....I’ve got a- uh. A friend is staying over for a bit though.”

“Oh, that’s fine! Tell them I said hi, alright? We- I’m sorry, I've got to go, work starts soon. I’ll- is tomorrow okay? I’ll be busy all day so it’ll work out for both of us.”

“Yeah! Yeah- absolutely. Thanks for- um.. understanding.”

There’s an unsaid “of course” that he could tell she wants to say, but instead they simply bid their farewells and agree to say hi tomorrow.

Turning off his phone, he tucks it into his pocket, pushing past Benry to leave his room. He doesn't shove him aside roughly, like he had before. He doesn’t know why he cared to be careful. He doesn’t comment on how he called him “a friend” on the call - it was just an excuse to prevent further explanation - and instead just mutters a simple, “ex says hi.”

He enjoys the quiet after that.

____________________________

  
  


When Joshua is dropped off the next day, he swears he could cry. It felt amazing to be able to see his son again, like some weight was lifted off of him, relieving him. He wanted nothing more than to hold onto his little Joshua and never let go. 

Of course, he says his hello to his ex, Olivia, rushing out a few more strained apologies as well. He even introduces Benry - though he has no idea where he got the change of clothes from - and Olivia seems to like him enough. Joshua loves the guy, though, much to Gordons dismay.

And now here they were, with Gordon setting up a small table for Joshua near the window, like he had weeks ago last time he was over. It was a cute setup, really - a small table that barely reached gordons thigh, with tiny chairs to match. Joshua loved the thing, always bringing toys and food and paper and crayons there. Gordon thinks he likes the view.

He has to step around the living room floor with caution, Joshua having left his toys all around the floor. It’s like a goddamn minefield, except instead of mines, it’s toy trucks and legos, with bonus cowboy figurines and little plastic horses and cats and- good god, it’s a damn mess. 

He doesn’t think he’d have it any other way, though.

Gently nudging some markers to the side, glancing at what Joshua was drawing, he sets down a little bowl of mac and cheese. “Hey Joshie, whatcha drawing there?”

“Beny!”

Gordon has to tilt his head, leaning forward a bit, before he could properly see the little crayon and marker drawing. Oh yeah, yeah he could see that. It took a second, but knowing what it was meant to be definitely helped. He ruffled Joshua’s hair, responding with, “well, make sure to show him when you’re done, okay? I’m sure he’d like it.”

Joshua nods excitedly, shoving everything off to the side - and some even off the table, unfortunately - to grab at his food, scarfing it down. Gordon has to gently remind him to be slow.

God, he loves his kid. He’d do anything for him. He’d die for him-

Well.. he nearly did, technically. He didn’t think dying for Joshua was a good idea for the time being. Maybe putting himself in harm's way, but for now, no death. No death for a good while if he could help it, he decides.

Moving to lean against the back of the couch, watching Benry mess with his playstation that he somehow got working. He made a face, but stayed quiet. He couldn’t cuss out Benry in front of Joshua. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to, though. But that was fine and to be expected, so instead he settled on sighing, catching the attention of Benry.

Gordon, moving to sit beside him, scratched at the back of his neck. “So.”

“...your kids not… complete shit. less cringe than you.” Benry mumbles out, focusing on the TV and the game he was playing. “little man is fun.”

A snort. “Don’t call my kid shit, dude. He’s not ‘shit’ or ‘cringe’ or whatever the hel-” he cuts himself off, glancing behind him at Joshua, who was happily drawing away. “...heck. Whatever the heck you wanna call him.” He turns back to Benry to jab at his shoulder. “And don’t swear around him.”

Benry makes a noise that sounded like a kid mocking someone, the whole “myehemyeemem” thing, even doing the talking motion with his hand. Gordon, sighing, is wholeheartedly unamused. God, this guy is annoying. 

“too many rules, bro, what’re- what makes you- why'd you gotta be a buzzkill, bro?”

“I.. am going to strangle you. With- with my own two hands.”

A bored look is all he gets from the anomaly in front of him, not much different than his other bored looks. 

“what ab- what happened to your, uhh…. one. hand. one hand strangle.”

“Don’t.”

“little uh- lil cringe Feetman wont- not gonna use one hand, huh? thought you- thought you said human hands didn’t grow back, what’s- you’re wrong huh?” An offhanded gesture to Gordon’s hand, and he has to resist the urge to scream.

“Don’t start, Benry. Not now. Not-  _ preferably,  _ never, don’t start ever. I’m not against beating you up.”

“weak lil Feetman thinks he can- that he can beat me up,” a ‘snrk’ noise rises from his throat, and he spits out a bit of sweet voice haphazardly. He seemed a bit startled when he noticed the colors, reaching out and squeezing the orbs until they popped into nothing. It was this sort of desert sand color to a bright, almost neon sky blue that probably had some artsy name he didn’t know. Gordon quirked an eyebrow, a silent question of “what was that?”

All he got was a stuck out tongue. Childish, but so was he, at times, so he had no real right to judge.

“Alright then, don’t tell me,” he muttered, moving to lean back on the couch, an arm thrown behind it, mostly so he could turn to check on Joshua easily.

So now he watched Benry play, quiet.

____________________________

  
  


The rest of the day.. was nice, in all honesty. Benry wasn’t as rude or obnoxious as he usually was, which was a wonderful change of pace. He even got along well with Joshua! (Though Gordon still refused to leave the two of them alone or out of earshot for any longer than a few seconds. That’s his damn son, he will absolutely not trust him to be around whatever the hell Benry is, especially after all that’s happened.)

And sure, explaining to Joshua in a way he could understand why he suddenly had a large scar was.. not easy, but hey, he managed! 

And he thought, for a few moments as he tucked Joshua into bed, telling him he loved him as he turned on his little nightlight, that everything was okay. That he could live like this now. Sure, Benry was a very much unwanted roommate, but he guessed he could deal with him. He did it before, did he not? He can do it again.

Of course, he did deal with a bit of noise from the TV, but that was fine. He didn’t really trust Benry alone in the house, so after changing into his pajama pants (with some old shirt he found in the closet that probably shouldn’t fit still) he curled up at the end of the couch, messing with stuff on his phone, glancing up at Benry every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t trying to do something… weird. Yeah.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep. It was surprising how he didn’t have nightmares that night, though he supposed that wasn’t a  _ bad  _ thing, really. He was glad. He was restless, sure, and this was more of a nap with how he jolted awake only a few hours later to an empty, dark and quiet room. He wanted to go back to sleep, and almost did, until he tried turning on his phone to check the time.

It was dead. He bit at his lip a bit, reaching over the couch’s arm rest to the table where the charger usually was. He couldn’t see, what with it so dark, and that… well. That worried him. He knew, rationally, that there was nothing to be afraid or nervous of. This was his house, after all, he knew who was in it and where they were.

Until he didn’t. He didn’t hear the almost ragged sound of Benry’s forced breaths in an attempt to look more human. He didn’t know where he was.

He reached up haphazardly, trying to twist the little switch to turn the lamp on the side table on, but it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t turn on no matter how many times he twisted the switch. A brief thought of a broken bulb crossed his mind, and he tried blinking to get used to the dark, but it didn’t  _ work,  _ he couldn’t see, it was too dark, much too dark. He brought his legs to his chest, and he swears the pressure on his chest hadn’t been there before. He takes a breath, but it's hard to get it in. He’s fine. He’s home, he knows that, he knows he’s okay, that Joshua is in the next room over, that somewhere Benry is probably breaking something. He knows his door and the windows are locked, he knows there’s nothing in his apartment, so why does he feel so terrified?

He wrings his hands together, twisting at his fingers, and he  _ swears  _ he sees the dark meld into figures in the corners of his vision, eyes darting around the room. He  _ swears  _ he could see someone - something? - approach from the darkest corners of the room, and he cant stop his breath from hitching. The faintest feeling of hands on his arms is what snaps him out of his terrified state, making him shoot up off the couch and rush to where he hopes the wall was. He bumps into the kitchen counter, and he thinks “that's okay, I know where I am.”

He pats the wall, trying to find the light switch, because it’s there, he swears it's there, but the feeling of something tugging at his arm even when he knows nothing is there  _ terrifies  _ him, and he presses his back to the wall, keeping his arms close to himself as he slides down, trying to get as small as possible. Fucking lights, fucking dark, fucking-

He screws his eyes shut, breathing getting much more strained, much more forced as he tries to gasp down air, to breathe. There’s a creak from the floorboards in front of him and a voice but its  _ distant  _ and for a second he remembers the last time he heard voices when it was dark, and god, no, it can't be happening again, it can't, but the feeling of eyes on him and phantom pains flaring up his arm from how hard he was holding onto his wrist tricked him into thinking he was right back there. 

Theres a hand on his arm now, so much more gentle than the ones that had grabbed him before, than the ones that tore off his fucking hand, but he still flinched, backing away, letting out a pained wheeze from his tearless cries.

“Don’t  _ fucking  _ touch me,” he managed to hiss out between breaths, strained and with panic clear in the words, and the hand disappears. He’s thankful, for a moment, before it sinks in that there’s someone else there and he’s right back at step one, because reasonably that's probably just Benry, realistically it  _ is  _ Benry, but the fact that someone is there and had  _ touched him  _ does nothing to settle his nerves.

And then there’s a hum. High pitched and familiar. It forces his limbs to untense, his chest to loosen and allow air in, forcing his mind to calm.

Calm..

He forces his eyes open, and while he’d deny it, he’s never been so happy to see the bright colors of the sweet voice around him, lighting up the room. Some strands are the simple calming blue, wrapping around Gordon and calming him. Some are different; An ashy gray with speckles of pink. A dark, almost desert sand-like color to a minty blue. A bit of pink to blue slips through, but Benry seems adamant about grabbing and popping those. The sweet voice fills the room, lighting up and revealing to Gordon that no, nothing is there. There’s no one in the corners, and no one trying to hurt him.

As much as he hates Benry’s guts, he has to admit, his odd ability can come in handy.

His throat feels raw, and his chest hurts, but even as he curls up a little more near the corner of the room, he doesn’t move to hide his face. He simply watches, internally grateful for the pretty little lights.

Benry closes his mouth, silencing his humming, but a bit of pink still slips through his lips as he moves to sit down in front of Gordon, watching him watch the bright orbs.

“...you uh… you good, bro? that looked like it sucked.”

A halfhearted, mostly forced snort in response. Gordon nods a bit, hand loosening its grip from his own wrist. “..Yeah.” His voice was hoarse as he forced out the word, and honestly he was probably on the verge of crying, but he held it in, only really sniffling or clearing his throat once or twice.

“...can you- can you turn on the lights, Benry? ….please.”

Benry blinks, eyebrows raising just a bit, but he nods, standing and moving to stand beside Gordon to flip the switch nearby. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, as the lights flood the room, drowning out any remaining shadows that threatened him. 

He drops his head with a soft thump against the wall, messing with the sleeves on his shirt. “Sorry. That- that you saw that.”

“what. what are- dude. you- you don’t need to, like. apologize for that.” He hears a bit of rustling fabric as Benry sits beside him. There's a bit of distance between them, probably for Gordon’s sake, but he’s there and just barely in view. “‘s not your fault you got like. scared and shit. human brains just kinda..” He does a motion with his hand, as if that’d help make his statement make more sense, though Gordon supposed he understood well enough.

“Yeah. Yeah, guess so.”

Letting out a breath through his nose, he let his eyes shut, unclenching his jaw - when had he started doing that? - and letting his shoulders droop a bit.

“What time is it?”

A pause. “...fuck if I know. you were out for, like... “ He makes a sort of “bbb” sound, moving to cross his legs. “think like five.”

“Five? D’you mean five hours?”

“....six.”

Gordon let out a halfhearted laugh at that, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. I’ll just assume hours.”

While he still wasn’t totally feeling alright, he did appreciate the brief distraction. He still felt uneasy, stomach tying itself in knots when he took so much as a glance to the corners, but it.. it wasn’t  _ unbearable.  _ He could deal with this well enough. It was alright.

____________________________

“Howdy, Doc- uh. Mr. Coomer? God that sounds fuckin’ weird.”

“Ah, hello Gordon! It does, doesn’t it? I’m so glad you decided to call, Bubby and I were beginning to worry that you may have forgotten us by accident! Or just..  _ decided _ to forget us.” (He can briefly hear a voice in the background of the other end of the line, calling out a “no the fuck I wasn’t!”)

“I wouldn’t do that, man, not- I mean I really don’t think I  _ can.  _ It was kinda.. you know. Don’t think I can just forget the people I went through hell with.”

“It was fucked up, Gordon! But you did bring us all back in one piece. I never did thank you for your help, did I? I suppose now's the time, then!”

“Oh- no, hey, it’s fine don’t worry about it, you don’t have to- I was just. Being a decent person.”

“Of course you were. You’ve always had a sort of hero complex, hm? Now, while I do appreciate the call, you must have something to tell me, yes?”

“Oh, yeah, I- uh- I was wondering if you and Bubby wanted to like, meet up with Tommy and I? Just to like, you know, see how everyones been doing and talk and.. that kinda stuff. God- sounds kinda silly now that I say it outloud, huh?”

“I get what you mean, and I’d love to! I’ve got quite a few restaurants that come to mind that we can visit, if you’d like, hm? You’ll just have to be ready for the possibility of getting kicked out with us!”

“Thats.. always a possibility when I go somewhere with you two, isn’t it.”

“Absolutely!”

“Great, uh- good.. to know, I guess. Where- what’d you have in mind, man? I’m down for anywhere.”

“I’ll send you the details in a moment, hm? It’s nothing too special, just a little restaurant that I found out about a while ago. What time would work best, Gordon? Bubby and I are free Saturday, if that helps!”

“Oh- oh, yeah, uh, Saturday’s good. 5pm good for you?”

“Sounds like a plan, then! We’ll be free all day in case our dear Tommy can't make it then.”

“Nice! Nice, okay, yeah, I’ll uh.. see you around, then. It was nice talking to you, Coomer.”

“You too, Gordon. Goodbye!”

_ Click. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ panic attack warning summary ]  
> gordon wakes up w/ the house being quiet, his phone dead, and the lamp wont turn on. the dark makes him panic and because of how tired he is he "sees" the dark have shapes that arent there [that bit is based off of how id feel after a nightmare, because jfc shadows suck] he moves off the counch to try to find a lightswitch, but doesnt find it, which sends him into a very brief panic attack, that is worsened by benry touching him [thought that wasnt intended]
> 
> \----
> 
> feel free 2 guess the sweetvoice meanings :v: i almost forgot them but also dont feel like figuring out how to add explanations so ykno, go buck wild lol <3
> 
> HHHHHHH SORRY FOR DYING ADHD IS A BITCH AND WOULDNT LET ME FINISH THIS CHAPTER. I HATE IT SO MUCH NOW HFBHJBHJDBHJ I DONT WANNA LOOK AT IT EVER AGAIN SO IM POSTING IT AT 1AM TO FORGET ABT IT. I HOPE YALL DONT HATE ME TOO MUCH
> 
> as usual, my tumblrs knight---cookie, criticisms usually welcomed but not for this chapter bcos im a baby bitch and dont wanna hear abt it this time dhbhjhb. comments in general r still welcomed <333
> 
> pls forgive me for dying for almost an entire month LMAO ive been working on other things but alas... adhd stops even those. :/ i want my robot and space mer AUs damnit *whacks brain w/ stick*


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